New Divide
by The Fall
Summary: And for that moment, she truly believed that the gods had forsaken her, casting aside the sacred bond between man and wife purposely in spite; abandonment was not a crime taken lightly by the Dalish. Prequel to Coexist.
1. Prologue: Forsaken

**Author's Note: **_This story is a prequel to _Coexist. _If you haven't read at least the first chapter of that story, you'll be confused..._

_Anyway. Hope you enjoy. :)_

* * *

Ale breath trickled down her neck, a beam of sweat, and a raspy, taunting chuckle. She gritted her teeth at the contact, legs attempting to close; they were stopped by the body in between.

Breath hazed against her face again, the smell of ale filling her senses once more. The one above her grunted, thrusts growing ever more rapid, the invasion venturing deeper into her sacred area.

Eyes tightened, teeth clenched powerfully; the intrusion had evolved into its exact opposite. A warm sensation formed in the pit of her belly, her entrance gripping at the wretched length that'd forced itself inside. Despite what it was, the flesh in her inner sanctum eagerly welcomed what she herself detested, body betraying mind once again.

She dug her long, jagged nails into the forsaken mattress, stained with vomit and alcohol.

_Ignore him._ She pleaded with herself. _It doesn't feel good, it doesn't feel good, it _doesn't feel good….

The intruder, sensing the defiance and _pleasure,_ enhanced his torture, laughing evilly; the ugly sound, even louder, shriller in the woman's elven ears, filled the room, giving the environment an even grimier feel. "Just admit it, whore," The revolting scent on his tongue crawled down her skin again; she bit back the bile in her throat. "I'm _way _better than that knife-eared runt husband of yours."

Her chest tightened at the mentioning of _him_, the only one who _should _have access to a place so sacred; time seemed to become nonexistent as his handsome face charmed her mind's eye: his smile, and the warmth that reached his silver irises whenever he saw her. They were beautiful, more valuable than any diamond that dared imitate their twinkle.

Yet they were not the ones above her, darkened with pleasure, yet glistening with a strange purity that still lingered despite the loss of virginity; the eyes that bore into her face, struggling to gain contact with her own, belonged to an infidel, a being her kind had sworn never to bow down to again. Yet here she was, legs open and _inviting._

She let out a faint gasp at the intensity that swarmed through her inner sanctum, then immediately silenced herself, teeth dug so deeply into her skin they drew blood. _No. It's just physical. It doesn't mean anything._

His thrusts became faster, sharper. Groaning, he drew his face near hers, tongue tracing the etched designs that revealed her past with ridicule, hate; they symbolized the gods, her Creators. And they'd been touched, _defiled _by the very kind who the tattoos were meant to defy.

The woman clenched her teeth, hand tightened into a fist, begging to defend her chosen god's honor, to destroy the one who challenged it. But it did not matter, not anymore. They were no longer sacred. _She _was no longer sacred.

He was panting now, foul breath forcing its scent inside her nostrils; she held her own breath, fighting the release that was begging to show itself.

_No! I can't give him the satisfaction. Not again._

Her body did not listen to her, and she oozed despite her silent protesting, bones seeming to have been reduced to mush, heart pounding out of time. Yet her mind denied the pleasure, showing the woman why it did not matter.

A picture flashed within her mind again; silver eyes, yet they did not belong to her life mate; they were perfect replicas of the original, bright with life and innocence. Brown skin was seen as well, not unlike her own, and long, flowing white hair framed the small and beautiful face.

Tears formed in the woman's eyes, and, to the intruder's ignorance, it was not from her climax. She was _theirs. _Hers and his. Their first creation. And she had broken her vows, _submitted,_ for her. They would not take the child away, not while there were other options. And there was one: _this._

_For her, _She assured herself, her own thoughts sounding as exhausted as her voice would after such a release, _I'm doing this all for her._

Despite her justification and reassurances, she still could not cease from grimacing when the familiar heat flowed within her, insides filled with _his_ seed. The tears finally fell, and as the final morsel of his essence infiltrated her womb, words ghosted through her conscience as if she were insane, taunting her despite her pleas for it to end.

_We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit._

Crashing down on her broken body as he had done so many times before, he removed his invasion from her passage, then stood from the bed, shaking his manhood as if her essence were poison.

"You know the rules," He muttered. "Wait a few minutes before you show yourself. I don't want anyone to even think we had anything to do with each other."

She turned her head away from the man, eyes tightened, breath highly controlled. He raised a brow and shrugged, unfazed by the woman's state.

He began to clothe himself again: a simple tunic, trousers, and socks. Then he picked up the metal suit that masqueraded his infidelity; armor that symbolized his devotion to the Maker.

He strolled to the door, silverite clanking with the wooden planks of the floor. "Be here next Tuesday. And have a better attitude, or your freak of a daughter will be at the tower before your elf mind can comprehend."

And he slammed the door, once again becoming the Maker's servant as soon as he crossed the threshold.

The woman brought her knees up to her chin, frail yet curvaceous body becoming small; tears enraptured her, damaged walls of the room fading into the midst of her blurred vision. Her body shook timidly, and she wept, releasing what'd been trapped inside for too long. Face twisted in agony, she brought her hands to her ink-filled skin, saliva still moist and nauseating on her designs. She was forever marked, forever filled with the essence of her born enemy, son of the Maker. And for that moment she truly believed that the gods had forsaken her, casting aside the sacred bond between man and wife purposely in spite; it was punishment for abandoning the ancestors and their ways. She was an elf in human lands, no longer surrounded by the beauty of nature and defiance. There was no evidence of what she once was, what she'd evolved into, what she believed in. She'd become like the rest of her people: submissive and obedient. For whatever reason she'd done so, it was not enough to rebuke the wrath of her Creators. Her brethren, her _true_ brethren, would not be lenient on such a traitorous infidel as herself, and neither would she.

Weeping in the soiled sheets of the forsaken chamber, Adaia Mahariel cradled herself, remembering what used to be.


	2. Demons of Ferelden

Labored breathing rang throughout her ears, and she was running, running, _running._ Feet grazed soil as legs captured momentum, her sight blurring in the midst of gnarled trees and darkness. Amongst the quick shallow breaths and faint screams of her pursuers far beyond her footsteps were the sounds of scattered thoughts, _urging:_

_Faster, run _faster!

Blood pulsated within her veins, the very essence of it _scorching_ underneath her skin; the infernal burning caused tears to form in her eyes as she sprinted down the landscape, low branches scraping against her ankles.

Seconds - though it was eternity for the child - passed, and the momentum slowed, drifting downward; her foot collided with surfaced roots, yanking her toward the ground. Arms flailing about to maintain balance, her body succumbed to gravity, plummeting onto soot and earth, her face slamming against the land, shoulder being impaled by a wooden spike that cloaked itself into darkness.

The agonizing _crunch_ in her nose, pop of her ankle and shoulder, and _rip _of skin and muscle sent a _chill_ through her very bones; she grit her teeth and _hissed_, bloodflow grown still at the shock of it all: the pain, the destruction, the death. Despite the _madness_ that was torturous even more so to elven ears, there was a sound to be heard above it all: laughter.

The child lazily shifted her neck towards the weight that pressed her further into the earth. Silk, cloth and leather bound it to her back; the softness brushing against her was the only thing that was familiar in the alien outskirts of her home, the only feeling that brought her heartbeat to a calm, steady hum. Inside the silken sheets and woolen wraps lay a tender, delicate face, framed by little wavy rivulets of ebony that flowed past the tips of small pointed ears and mocha-colored skin. Widened amber eyes looked into her own, the irises brightened to withstand the darkness, glistening with amusement and contentment. And the heavenly sound came from the mouth, small lips agape as a trickle of spittle streamed from its opening.

The child stared at her in disbelief, torment, envy. The fall. It'd awakened her sister.

With an existence that was but a few months, she knew not of the danger that was in her wake. She dismissed the shouts behind her, the rigid breaths of her savior, the blood that flowed from her elder sister's shoulder and nose - it was alien to her. But the fall….that was well known. Her sister would often take her on small adventures through the forest, running and jumping to thrash the younger child about, as she knew the babe enjoyed it. This time was no different to the infant, despite the change in scenery and mood, and so she giggled, face so light with happiness it almost drew the elder child into the infant's world.

She shook her head, bringing her face back to the blood soaked ground. No. One moment of joy would bring capture, imprisonment, death.

The child slowly lifted herself off the spike, teeth drawing blood as they pierced her skin; the spike had penetrated her flesh and forced an opening through the back of her shoulder. Bitter tears streaming down her face, she stood, body hunched over, hand gripping at the wound that sent driblets of sharpness throughout her muscles, her psyche, limping through the forest as the laughter fainted to a close. The girl managed to roll her eyes at the babe's mood. Innocence, ignorance. They were one and the same.

Despite the child's strange determination and stamina, the shouts grew nearer with each struggling step she made. With a right shoulder that was out of place, another that was severely wounded, and an ankle which bones were scattered, there was no possible way salvation would be reached before she was found. Yet she continued to limp, ignoring the waves of pain that flowed within her with each step, the little knives piercing her insides. They'd taken everyone else; they wouldn't have her sister. Not whilst she still breathed.

Her eyes drooped, and she cursed herself. Breathing heavily, she trudged on despite her body's protests.

The drunken slurs were even more clearer now. The words they spewed….it was gibberish to her. Not Rivaini, not Antivan. Nowhere near to be elvish. The child shook her head furiously, trudging on, forcing the foreign words out of her mind. Their tongue merely defined the monsters they'd portrayed themselves to be. The language was meant to confuse her, strike fear in her heart. She knew this. They were demons. Demons escaped from the Fade who'd taken human forms with strange, sickly pale skin, and slurred, barbarian speech. All to weaken her. All to drain her, take her.

"Hey knife-ear, stop running!" The child furrowed her brow in frustration, limping faster at the sound of the voice. "We just want to play! You and that baby'll be _great_ playmates when you get older! C'mon!"

A whimper escaped chapped lips, and she shook her head again, defying the demon that taunted her.

"You won't stop? Okay, we warned you!"

And a sharp whipping sound sung through the air, humming through the still night. It came to a close, and a _force_ impacted through her left calf, a wet, fleshy sound shadowing the arrow's song.

A raspy cry filled the serene forest, echoing throughout the trees and midnight sky. And the girl fell, front slamming into the ground once again, hands grasping at the arrow impaled in her leg, shoulders screaming as the little knives came down in _reigns_ of torture and mercilessness. The bundle strapped to her back clutched at her with fists that were too small to make an impact, yet she felt it, closing her eyes as they both wept, and she silently begged the younger child for forgiveness.

A crude, gravelly laugh rang in her ears, causing more pain. "Well, what'll we do with this one, boys?"

More laughter. "Kill her!"

"Fuck her!"

"Beat her!"

"Throw the littlest brat to the wolves and make her watch!"

The child lifted her head, chin resting on the ground, eyes staring at the boots of the lead demon; their gibberish caused her brain to pound in desperation to comprehend.

The leading demon grabbed her chin and yanked it, pulling her up by her neck; the infant wailed behind her, fists clutching harder into the girl's back. "What do _you_ think we should do with you, little knife ear?"

The girl stared at them with wide eyes, feeling her blood slither down her skin. Silence would be her reply; she knew not of which he spoke.

The demon scowled, hand pulled back and rammed into her face, jerking her back; were he not gripping her so tightly, she would have fallen. "Answer me!"

"She's too stupid to understand what you're saying, Gare. Learn the speak of Maric, you elf bitch!" Another ramming. "You think the humans up here like you? No! You animals up here have gotten too beside yourselves. You think you're our equals. Well, we're going to teach you a lesson."

And the ramming came down in reigns, thrashing the girl as if she were a rag doll, a toy to be reckoned with. The girl immediately thought of the dagger that'd been sheathed to her waist, the dragonbone blade she was entitled to, the blade that'd killed humans such as these. But her hands had been restrained by the paws of a demon, gripping her so severely she could feel the bloodflow slowing in her arms. Pain slowly took her, eyes drooping as they did before; she began to succumb to it, welcoming death, if it would end the agony.

In her coming comatose state, she heard a gasp, and the gibberish: "Someone's coming!"

A blackened blur came rushing toward her, slamming into her abdomen; she felt a burning in her throat, and she was drenched in vomit spewing it on herself and the demons. Darkness overwhelmed her, the silent plea for the Creators to take her and her sister and the infant's cries the last thing to grace her ears.

o.O.o

Salt wavered around her nostrils, the cawing of seabirds driving her into consciousness. She lazily lifted her eyelids, the dull throbbing aching all over her body. Vision blurred and breath heavy, she saw nothing but darkened wood and barrels, towering over her as if she were a small insect. She turned her head sideways, cheek making contact with cool wooden planks. She'd been cast aside on the floor.

Dried vomit clenching her clothes to her skin, she turned her body, analyzing her surroundings. Was this the dreamworld, the afterlife she'd yearned for, the salvation she'd hoped the Creators would give her after allowing so much pain to be inflicted upon her?

A desperate wail filled the room, piercing to her sensitive ears. She winced, eyes searching for the familiar sound, heart pounding wildly within her chest. And she found it, the bundle she'd protected so fiercely. She turned on her stomach, lifted herself to a crawling position, and shifted her weight to her right knee, where the ankle was useless, but the calf was unskewered. The baby screeched, wriggling on the floor, trapped within the confines of the wraps of silk and wool. She lifted her knees and _crawled_ to the girl, shoulders groaning with each step that was made. And when she reached her destination, she scooped the bundle into her arms, bringing her to her chest and weeping.

"_Mamae,_" She sobbed in her language, the language that made _sense._ "I want her…"

More gibberish interrupted her sorrow, sounding as if it was spat near her, though it was spoken beyond the small, dark room. "Eh, where the hell are we goin? We passed the Denerim docks hours ago,"

"We did? Shit! I thought we had at least an hour before-"

"Oh, shut it Petey, you were too busy playing with the knife-ears to pay any real attention to the water."

"Hey Gare, think you could turn her around for us? We need to get back before the boss gets angry."

"Yeah, sure. Looks like we're heading toward the Brecilian Forest. Should get away from there, there's a lot of rocks by the shore-_gahh!_"

And all their screams attacked the children's ears, the volume of it rising with each second that passed. A massive jolt radiated throughout the entire ship, and it threw the girl from where she knelt to the wall; she held the babe close to her chest, slamming her head into the wood and drifting into the darkness yet again, ignorant as to the demons' fate.

o.O.o

She opened her eyes, expecting to feel the knives, yet they'd been reduced to little dull aches, prodding at her every moment, but she welcomed the feeling; it did not reduce her to tears as the blades had.

Instead of seeing brown and darkness, she saw vivid shades of green, sepia and blue; softness caressed her back, unlike the wooden planks she'd laid on before. The pasty feeling the vomit had left on her clothes had been washed away; she felt cleaner, less grimy. The ends of her long, silken ebony hair rested on her belly, where the stems of flowers were braided into them. She sat up, brow furrowed. It was more serene than the ship, more familiar to her, yet it was still strange. She listened for the soothing sound of laughter, crying; she found none.

Hair standing on end and sweat forming on her skin, her eyes searched wildly for the bundle, seeing nothing but the sand and grass below her, and the sky above. There was nothing there, save her and the cot she rested upon.

A soft, lovely voice serenaded her ears, despite the gibberish it proclaimed; it made the girl sigh, frown deepening. "And how did they die?"

"The Veil is torn by the sea, Keeper. Spirits attacked them, and the ship crashed into rocks."

"I see. It saddens me to know that our people suffered along with those shemlen."

"I've been told that the other elves bore the symbols of the Creators, but the child is too young to have them. Are you sure she is one of us as well, Keeper?"

"The blood of the Ancients flows within her. I can sense it. And she wields the Fang of Fen'Harel! Is that not enough?"

"…I…am sorry, Keeper. I never should have doubted you."

"It is fine. Were there other survivors?"

"No. They are all dead, the shems and the captive Dalish. The only one that lives is the child and the babe."

"And what were their wounds?"

"The babe had no wounds, Keeper. But the child has a broken nose, a dislocated shoulder and one shoulder that has been severely impaled, a broken ankle and a calf that was shot with an arrow. It is by the Creators' grace that she yet lives. But I have since healed her."

"What else would you say about her?"

"She…..is strange in appearance. Her skin is colored, and her eyes are unlike any I have ever seen. Like the amber sap in the trees. So was the babe. So were they all, I am told, save for the shemlen."

"….Come with me. I wish to speak with this child."

And she heard footsteps coming toward her, not threatening and forced like the demons that plagued her, but calm and collected, as if the owners of the feet were taking a midday stroll.

A hand crept through a flap she did not know was there, and she gasped, taken aback by the opening of the blue canvas she'd deemed the sky. Was her vision so blurred?

Two womanly forms entered the tent, both pale, elven, and beautiful, though the child found their appearance unnerving. But the designs on their faces whispered silent reassurances to her; they were familiar, and they showed that the pale women were the same as her. They were mages, the child suspected; they wore light colored robes, and staves were strapped to their backs.

"Hello, child," croaked the elderly Keeper.

The girl stared at her, frowning. The Keeper raised an eyebrow. "Do you not understand me, child? Do you not speak the common tongue?"

Silence.

"I do not believe she is from Ferelden, Keeper. She is too dark, and does not understand us."

The old woman, still beautiful in her final years, turned to her apprentice. "She knows not of what I speak?" She brought a wrinkled hand to her chin, eyes slit, lips pursued. "I have never met an elf who didn't know the shemlen tongue. It….it is a delicacy."

The girl tilted her head at the two women, confused by the contradictory of the Dalish markings and gibberish speak. She watched them speak to one another, analyzing them. They were similar to her clan in clothing and tattoos, save for the pale appearance; their skin was a pasty, colorless hue, and their hair was long and thin, auburn and blond. But their eyes….their eyes frightened the child. Despite the light skin and hair, their eyes were a dark, endless blue, bluer than the sea that surrounded the girl's home. She slowly eased away from them, though they were already feet away, as they were standing at the flap of the tent.

The younger girl-with the auburn hair and large eyes-turned away from her Keeper, and smiled at the girl, opening her mouth to speak.

The child began to scowl, blood boiling at the thought of hearing the gibberish, the demon-speak again.

And then, she heard it; the language, _their_ language, spoken so fluently that she had no choice but to reply: _"What is your name?"_

The child lifted her head, amber eyes staring into the dark ones of the Keeper. "Adaia."


End file.
